Category: The Figure 8 Ranch

Nuclear Winter

Oregon is burning, and we’ve now lost a month of summer to the smoke. Each morning I look out toward the barn, where it sits in a kind of primordial orange pall, and I can see the ash falling like snow in the offing. Inside the house, which is buttoned up, it smells like a ...

The People I Didn’t Kill

Author’s note:  this post was originally published in September, 2014, following the Ferguson, Missouri riots. The soul of a cop’s eyes Is an eternity of Sunday daybreak in the suburbs Of Juarez, Mexico. James Wright Yesterday, after a luxurious week of toiling underground, minding my own business, breaking the code of a hard poem by ...